(OOC: This RP is open to members of Meridia, and will chronicle the succession crisis and noble rebellion within the Kingdom of Taledonia.)
The Old and the New
Deep within the Brackenwood
17th Day of Artias, 5th Year of the Second Era
The sky was awash in the colours of a setting sun. Hues of purple, orange and red streaking across the heavens as heralds of the approaching blues, themselves only the vanguard of the greenish aurora that would soon dance upon a field of black. The pines, towering and snow capped despite the warm spring air, stood out as dark shadows upon the celestial canvas, and threw ever growing shadows of their own upon the horsemen who rode on the narrow path between them. The ground was a mixture of muddied snow and dead foliage from the year before. It was an oppressive scene, with the wood pushing too close on either side of the trail, and the magnificence of the sky seemed more sinister than alluring. The horses, their hooves constantly sinking into the bog with every step, were becoming infuriated, deigning not to step forward until ferociously prodded by the swearing knights upon their backs, and the pop of suction as they went wore the nerves of both men and beast.
“Had we not stopped,” muttered one of them, a grizzled old man who lacked any hair on his head or face, “We’d have been next to a warm hearth by now.”
The youngest of the party, a man in his early twenties with a full head of streaming auburn hair and an almost girlish face, gave a mischievous grin. “But she was well worth the wait.”
“I don’t think her father would agree,” countered another, this one wearing his full plate armour, even the full helm. His tone was serious and bordered upon disapproval. “And I’m sure you didn’t need to parade the deed to the entire homestead.”
“Ah,” laughed the youth, “But they should all know and share in the girl’s joy! After all, how often does a common wench receive the attention of a royal prince?”
“All too often,” muttered the hairless one. “And I can’t say I’m enjoying holding back their fathers and brothers no more.”
“Times are changing,” agreed the stern one, “The lords of the realm are growing tired of the…privileges…the crown takes with their lands and people.”
“It’s not THEIR lands and people,” the young prince growled, “They are but stewards, placed there by Royal assent. Look around you. This forest, that mountain there” he pointed at the towering peak that could be seen through a break in the trees, “The mud beneath you, even. It all belongs to my father the King.”
“Hush!” commanded the bald one. “D’you hear that?”
They hushed, and across the chill dusk air could be heard the most intriguing of all sounds: That of women laughing. Immediately the grin returned to the young prince, and with a wink to his companions he set his heels into his mount, urging it forwards into a gallop despite the mud.
“He’s going to lame that poor creature,” commented the helmed one, to which his bare-headed companion gave a grunt of agreement before setting his own mount into a slow trot of pursuit. They entered the scrub, the mud giving way to snowbanks that were escaping the springtime sun in the cover of the foliage. They pushed through thick bush and branches that did their utmost to block their passage, and all the while the sounds of laughter grew louder, joined by the unmistakable noise of running water.
The knights emerged into a glen that was heavily shrouded from outside view by the tall sentinel pines and thick raspberry bushes. The stream at the center tumbled down a four foot drop into a deep pool whose banks were ringed with ice and snow, but in whose fast flowing center splashed three figures. They were young, fair of complexion and hair, the latter shimmering as it tumbled to cover their bare chests. Their eyes were large and round and otherworldly blue, and their ears were slightly pointed. The warm air was thick with the scent of lavender, and the sun had reached a point where the patches of sky that could be made out through the trees was the most brilliant crimson. The wood was silent but for the rush of water and the playful entreaties of the young girls, who had moved to the shore and where helping the prince remove his clothing; his armour long shed carelessly near where he had dismounted.
The bald knight was the first to dismount, compelled by some unknown suggestion, for the women had never actually uttered a word, only keeping up their girlish giggling and sighs that bordered upon carnal pleasure. But in their heads, they all felt powerfully compelled to obey, and stripping themselves of all garments, the royal escort joined their prince in the icy water. Each man went to a different girl, who took him into her arms lovingly and led him deeper into the stream. With bright smiles and charming looks, they plied their captives with kisses, and welcomed the touch that fondled their bodies. It did not take long for the whole party to be in the exact center of the stream, which rose to chest height on the men.
“Lay down,” were the unsaid words in their heads. “You will feel such joys as you have never experienced.”
With acquiescing smiles, the three men slowly sank onto their backs in the water, the women very gently pushing their heads under the surface. The water stung as it rushed over them and entered their lungs, but the men just smiled at the beautiful young women who held them under the running stream and smiled back at them through the distortion of the liquid medium.
The sun, finally dipping below the horizon, submerged the world into a momentary darkness before the light of the moon strengthened and lit the forest in a ghostly blue. It was silent but for the tumbling stream and the wind that whistled softly through the pines. The horses stood silently where they had been left, watching with disinterest as the lifeless bodies of their owners were slowly carried downstream. In the distance an owl, herald of the night, hooted that it was now his time; that here was the Kingdom of Twilight.
